


A sight for sore eyes.

by inglourious_artist



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Emotional Baggage, M/M, Sad Thor, i apologise for nothing, obviously spoilers ahead, sad shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 03:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18984109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inglourious_artist/pseuds/inglourious_artist
Summary: Just one of many ideas I had for a slight Endgame fix.





	A sight for sore eyes.

As waves of people began flooding the battlefield, it hadn’t once crossed Thor’s mind that Loki could have been among them.

Even as a crops of black hair would make their way into his peripheral vision, Thor refused to get his hopes up. He’d wasted too much time already being convinced that his brother was still alive.

He had spent too much time convincing himself that Loki was hiding within New Asgard, amongst the people that remained. He had spent too many drunken nights sprawled across the floor, talking to a mug, or a beer bottle, or to any object he had deluded himself into believing had moved from its original place when the reality was he had knocked it over himself in his drunken stupor.

He had spent too many nights _dependant_ on the idea that Loki was still amongst them, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal himself, to reveal his biggest and longest hoax yet.

Perhaps it was how he’d now been forced to ease up on the booze, or perhaps he had finally let go of his childish wishes, but there was not a single doubt in Thor’s mind that his beloved little brother was gone. Lost eternally this time.

Though the battle managed to put words such as exhaustion to shame, Thor found something oddly soothing about the post-battle bliss. The feeling of victory, and the way it consumed his body and his being. The way it left him feeling _deserving_ of a feast, of a night of joyful drinking, a night of celebration.

After half a decade of gorging himself and binging mindlessly in any way he pleased, the feeling that he had earned something immediately triumphed over any pseudo gratification he’d indulged in over the course of such empty years of living.

Of course not to mention that feasting like a warrior rather than feeding like a glutton wouldn’t further compromise his body. Rather than filling him with hate for his ever expanding form, it would fill him with fond memories of his friends, his close friends, the Warriors Three and Sif, who would so frequently share banquets and celebrations with him after their conquests.

… But they were gone now too. Long gone. Just as Loki, Odin, Heimdall, Frigga, and well over half of his people were. Just as Asgard itself was.

The hatred Thor had for himself for allowing years of wallowing away in solitude without lifting a finger for his people couldn’t come close to how much hatred and guilt could swell inside of him when Thor paid thoughts to how much he had _failed_ his people.

But his failure didn’t end with his people, with Asgard. No. Thor’s failures somehow expanded even further than that now. He had let his pain, his grief strip him of the little worth he had left.

For the first time in his life, Thor had become weak.

If he had been stronger, if he hadn’t let himself wilt and fold then _he_ could have used the gauntlet. _He_ could have brought everyone back. _He_ could have wiped Thanos from the face of the Earth in their timeline and _this time, **finally**_ have it mean something!

… _He_ could have spared Tony’s life. Had he been strong enough in himself.

Throughout the intimate ceremony that was hosted for Tony in his passing, those thoughts and those thoughts alone were the only ones going through his mind. It was all that was there. Just guilt, and mourning.

He could at least thank the numbness and inner turmoil for keeping his face dry of tears.

The pack of damaged warriors watched over the lake and stood in utter silence whilst hours passed them by.

As timed passed, the number gradually thinned out. Slowly but surely. Though no one was fully willing to leave, even if it was to retreat to their vice, their comfort, or the family a select few had left.

Though the ceremony had commenced in the early hours of the morning, it took until midday for Mrs Stark to be able to free herself of the unyielding stalemate she’d set up between herself and the lake.

As she passed Thor on her way into the building, her hand pressed up against Thor’s shoulder in a firm but caring manner, a gesture surely only a mother could provide as a sign of comfort. Reassurance. Telling Thor, wordlessly, that he would be fine to leave.

Though even as Pepper made her way inside, Thor’s feet remained firmly planted on the ground. Something more powerful than him compelling him to remain exactly where he was. At least for a little while longer.

It was only as the blue sky above him began to stain with pinks and reds, indicating the setting sun, and a chill down his spine alerted him to the drop in temperature the night would shortly bring that Thor truly realised just how long he had been stood there for.

Though he felt Tony, Natasha, and everyone else that had laid their lives down before them deserved more of his time, all the time he had left to give, Thor still found himself pulling his cardigan taut around his body, bundling himself up as tightly as possible. He still had to make his way back to New Asgard, not willing to attempt rest anywhere that was unfamiliar. The nightmares were bad enough when he was in his own home.

So he turned. Away from the lake. Away from the spot Tony’s heart had drifted from, and his feet began idly shuffling up the low hill, trying to convince himself he would feel better when he was over the mound of earth, leaving a greater distance between his body and the lake.

After fumbling over the terrain slightly, Thor forced his thoughts to the present as best as he could, eyes finally focusing as they shifted from his feet, to the ground, to up the small hill and in front of him. His feet halting as soon as he did so. His only recently active body stalling again, as the wind before disaster strikes.

_**“... Loki?”** _


End file.
